


decorations of red

by triggerswaggiehavoc



Series: not so blue christmas [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Confessions, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Snow, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 23:11:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12994581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triggerswaggiehavoc/pseuds/triggerswaggiehavoc
Summary: If Junhui sticks around Jihoon’s place the longest, that means he gets to talk to him just a little longer, and there’s nothing ulterior about that. So he’s still here.





	decorations of red

The phrase “ulterior motives” has never sat well with Junhui; it makes it sound like he’s doing something suspicious and probably evil, like he’s helping an old woman across the street only to steal her purse once they reach the other side. Wonwoo loves saying he has ulterior motives, though, so he’s stuck denying it all the time. But he’s not that devious or scheming. If he sticks around Jihoon’s place the longest, that means he gets to talk to him just a little longer, and there’s nothing ulterior about that. So he’s still here.

Despite all Jihoon’s grievances about hosting the group Christmas party at his place this year, it went fine. There were more decorations than Junhui expected, which Jihoon said was Jeonghan’s doing, but he also looked like he was having more fun than usual, even if Jeonghan forced him into a bright red sweater decked out with soundless jingle bells. The sleeves go down past his knuckles if he’s not careful about shoving them back to his elbows every minute or two, and it looks nice on him. Nice enough to warm Junhui’s cheeks. He sips at his dwindling glass of eggnog.

At least Wonwoo left earlier. He’d be off the walls if he knew Junhui was still hanging around so late, probably keeping a tally of how often Junhui takes a glance in Jihoon’s direction. Long tally. Another sip of eggnog. It’s not like he’s the last one here, he defends against the theoretical Wonwoo who would be terrorizing him were he still present. Jeonghan and Minghao and Mingyu are all still here also! Theoretical Wonwoo reminds him that Jeonghan and Mingyu also live here, though, which means he and Minghao are the only two sticking around. Which is still a little better than just having himself.

Soft Christmas tunes whisper through the speakers, louder on the far side of the couch where Jeonghan is trying to trick Minghao into playing some game that probably isn’t fun. He’s already tricked Minghao into a lot of things—that hideous sweater, to name one—and Junhui wonders if Minghao’s going to let himself get tricked into this one, too. Probably. He can be pretty easy when he wants to be, and the lights from their dinky little tree are twinkling in his eyes at just the right angle to seem like he wants to be. Jeonghan leans in close to his ear, lips stretched in a thin smile, and Junhui turns back to focus his attention on the TV. Ah, yes. The good old fireplace channel. Exhilarating.

Mingyu yawns. “Can we at least put on a movie?” he asks. “I’m tired of watching this fire loop.” Thank god. Junhui was too afraid to say it. The remote flies across Junhui’s field of vision, and he’s convinced it’s going to smash Mingyu right on the nose up until he catches it and starts flipping through the channels. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jihoon flip over in the recliner and push his sleeves back up to his elbows. Nice forearms. More eggnog.

“Put something good on,” Jihoon grumbles. His arms cross over his chest while he leans into the soft back of the chair, and the annoyed scrunch of his face is completely offset by how comfortable he looks. Oh, to be that chair… Weird thought! Junhui goes for a little more nog, but his glass is regrettably empty.

“Is there any eggnog left?”

“Go check the kitchen,” Mingyu tells him. “If the carton is empty, we don’t have any more.” After a few more clicks of the remote, he settles on _The Santa Clause_. Jihoon makes a small noise, but he doesn’t say anything concrete, so he must not really mind it.

The kitchen tiles are cold on Junhui’s feet even through his wool socks, decorated to look like reindeer. They never keep their heat on high enough because they’re all cheap, and it really comes through when the population of the apartment has dropped to half and he doesn’t have the coziness of the couch to delude him anymore. He wades over to the counter where the open carton sits and is swiftly crushed when it’s way too easy to pick up, no more than four drops trickling out of the spout when he tips it to his glass. A heavy sigh. It’s harder to chase his thoughts around without any nog to drink.

“There’s none left,” he announces sadly on his return. Only Jihoon acts like he cares, glancing away from the TV for just long enough to make Junhui’s neck hot. Whatever game Jeonghan and Minghao are playing involves a lot of dubious whispering, and he’s glad they’re so absorbed in it only because it means they won’t notice the pink staining his ears as he walks by.

It’s at least five minutes later when Jihoon asks, “Do you want some more?” Junhui is slow in understanding the question.

“Huh?”

“Eggnog.”

“Oh.” He coughs. It was only supposed to be one cough, but it turns into a little train of six. Damn it. “I mean, I did, but since there’s none left, it’s fine.”

“I can go get some more.” The lights from the tree fall in rainbow lines over his face while he talks. His eyes look like stained glass. “There’s a little corner store a block over.”

“No, it’s not that big a deal.”

“Are you sure?” Jihoon’s sleeves are mesmerizingly covering his hands again, and Junhui wants to hallucinate a smile tugging at his lips, but the shifting splotches of colored light are giving him just barely too much distortion. Would it kill anyone else to say something? Mingyu looks fully absorbed in the movie even though he’s probably seen it six times already.

“Totally,” Junhui says. “I’m good.”

“I’ll go get it,” Jeonghan volunteers anyway, leaning back from Minghao’s ear, though his hand stays steady on that thin shoulder all the while. “I was wanting some more, too.”

“Want me to lend you a few bucks?” Jihoon asks, patting one concealed hand around to find which pocket his wallet is stashed in. Junhui wonders if anything he says even matters.

“No way.” With a pat to his own thighs, Jeonghan rises to his feet and starts shrugging on a coat that was balled up on the floor. “It’s the giving season, and I’m giving.” A hat over the ears, a grin on the lips. “I’ll get the really good kind.” Jihoon raises his eyebrows.

“It’s all the same.”

“Is what _you_ think,” Jeonghan tuts, “but there is a good kind, and it’s the kind I’m going to buy.” His socked feet nudge at Minghao’s legs below him, eyes turned downward with an easy grin. “Come on, Minghao. Come with me.” Minghao groans.

“But it’s _cold_ outside.”

“Exactly! Suppose I freeze and die all by myself?”

“Then that’s god’s way of saying the nog isn’t worth it.” He groans again when the foot prodding at him ramps up the pressure.

“Just come with me, you goblin.” That shouldn’t be the selling point, but it is. With a grunt, he grabs onto Jeonghan’s arms and heaves himself up, and then he is pulling on a coat and beanie and following Jeonghan out the door. Junhui sighs. He can be so easy when he wants to be.

With the two of them gone, the air is a little too stiff. Neither Mingyu nor Jihoon has asked Junhui why he’s still around yet, but he doesn’t have a decent explanation ready in case they do, and it’s got him antsy. Not that Mingyu’s mind is anywhere but on the movie. Jihoon’s eyes are nearing closed like he’s about to fall asleep, but there’s a distinct shine in them that says he’s paying attention, says he’s not ready to knock out just yet. It’s really nice the way the tree lights frame his face like that.

Not ten minutes later, Mingyu is yawning again. Even with the gusto he had at the start of the movie, he’s still flickering like a bulb on its last breath, barely awake where he’s burrowed into the couch beside Junhui. He takes several long blinks before hitting his legs and hunching forward.

“I think I’m going to bed,” he asserts, groggy and only half sure. “Night, guys.” Junhui doesn’t know whether he should be comfortable with how he still hasn’t been asked to leave. A glance at his watch tells him it’s getting well past the proper hours.

“Sleep tight, grandpa,” Jihoon croons. “We’ll have so much more fun without you.” Mingyu grunts as he walks off, but he keeps going anyway, and then it is just Junhui, Jihoon, and _The Santa Clause_.

Junhui wants to say something, but he knows he has a nasty habit of always saying something awkward, so he tries to focus on the movie. Only he’s seen it too many times to be that interested anymore, and then he gets distracted because Jihoon gets up and walks past him to get to the kitchen. He hears some rustling, the open and close of some door, a few soft beeps, a low hum. The microwave, maybe? His suspicions are confirmed when Jihoon strolls back in three minutes later with a freshly popped bag of popcorn, and his heartrate is doubled when he nestles into the couch beside Junhui instead of returning to the comfort of his armchair. White steam puffs out of the bag when Jihoon tears it open.

“Want some?” Jihoon asks, offering the bag, and Junhui reaches into it before he’s decided if he really wants any.

It’s been a while since he’s had popcorn, and it’s not cool enough to eat yet, but he pops it in his mouth and pretends his tongue can handle it. Nice and buttery. At least it’s an excuse to keep him from talking, he guesses, and when Jihoon sandwiches it between them on the couch, he finds his hand diving back in again and again, fingers growing slick with imitation butter. Jihoon sighs.

“That shop is a six minute walk away,” he muses, crunching on another popped kernel. “Wonder what’s taking them so long.” Junhui snorts. As if that’s any real mystery. The snort turns into a gasp when he catches a glimpse of the window.

“Whoa, look outside!”

After springing to their feet and clambering closer, it’s even easier to see. Outside, just past the frosted glass of the window, snow is coming down in buckets, waterfalls of flat white flakes sticking to the pavement in soft piles. Junhui squints to see if he can find a pair of silhouettes wading through it all, but the only thing his eyes pick up is pale snow against the black of the late night sky. “Was snow in the forecast for today?” he asks with a frown.

“Forecast or not, it’s out there.” He blows out a low whistle. “And it’s sure as hell not messing around.”

“Think they’re walking around in that?”

Jihoon laughs. “Not if I know Jeonghan.” He taps the glass a few times with a fingernail, tiny sound reverberating through Junhui’s chest. “They’re probably… somewhere.” While they look out the window, Junhui chews his bottom lip. The glass is freezing to the touch, and the snow doesn’t look like it’s letting up any time soon.

“Guess I better head home before it gets too much worse.”

“Really?” Jihoon’s tone catches him off-guard, something a bit like surprise and reluctance bundled together.

“The roads don’t seem too bad yet.”

“Well, maybe not,” Jihoon concedes, “but you can stay here if you want.” His breath fogs on the glass in a shape that almost looks like a flower. “The couch isn’t bad, and we have a lot of extra blankets.” He cracks a smile. “Mingyu will never notice if I turn the heat up a few degrees while he’s asleep.”

“Is that really alright?” Truthfully, Junhui thinks he might choke on his own heart. Half of it is excitement at the prospect of getting to drag his time with Jihoon on for just a little longer, and half of it is nerves at the offer. Wonwoo would probably piss his pants if he could hear this right now.

“I’m saying, if you want to, the offer stands.” He gestures toward the massive flurry of white. “But if you trust yourself driving in these conditions and you want to leave, you probably better go soon.” After a minute of watching snow come down into drifts, Junhui sighs. He doesn’t know if he’s resigning to himself or to Jihoon.

“I probably better stay,” he says, and Jihoon grins.

“Good choice.” And back to the couch.

They go through another bag and a half of cheap microwave popcorn before the movie ends to make way for its sequel, and Jeonghan and Minghao still aren’t back yet. With a dissatisfied groan, Jihoon flips over and stretches his legs out.

“I’m tired of Tim Allen,” he proclaims. “I don’t wanna watch this.”

“Do you have something else in mind?”

“I’m so glad you asked.” He heaves himself from the cushions and shoves his sleeves back up to his elbows, which they fall from immediately. “We’ve got a tub of cookie dough in the fridge that needs baking.” Junhui raises his eyebrows, and Jihoon raises his back. Cookies are very appealing.

A soft Christmas music playlist from Jihoon’s phone drowns out the distant babbling of Tim Allen and company coming from the TV in the other room, and Jihoon’s humming drowns out the playlist, sweet and melodic in the stillness of the kitchen. Without meaning to, Junhui sways side to side, eyes closed while he molds the dough into little balls for the cookie sheet. He’s starting to get a little tired, but in terms of how much Jihoon he’s breathed in, it’s way too early to give out. Making cookies finally has him in the Christmas spirit, red projections of tree lights shimmering dimly on the countertop before him, and Jihoon’s humming puts a certain warmth in his chest that he usually doesn’t feel until he’s home for the holidays.

Maybe that’s just what having feelings for someone is like. Junhui has always been big into Christmas, but it’s been hitting him so much harder this year, the arrays of fairy lights around windows and on bushes, the poinsettias and fake snowflakes strung up with bunches of holly and tinsel on the pillars at the mall. A hand to hold would be a nice gift—Junhui’s caught himself thinking it on more than one occasion. And he has a particular hand in mind, too. Eyes open, he watches the very hand, tapping imaginary piano keys on the tabletop. He sighs and plops another dough ball into the last spot on the tray. Would it be classified as ulterior if he reached around behind Jihoon to grab a spoon and have a little bit of dough for himself? Probably. He doesn’t do it.

The oven light stays on the whole time the cookies are baking. Jihoon is the type of person who gets up to check on them every twelve seconds to see how they’re coming along. The saying, after all, is that a watched pot never boils, not that a watched tray of chocolate chip cookies never bakes. And even if that were the saying, Jihoon would prove it false. Junhui spends almost all of the thirteen minute baking time alone on the couch while Jihoon gazes eagerly in through the oven door, and the oven’s timer beeps only once before Jihoon clicks it off and pulls the cookies out.

It takes no time at all for the room to fill with their scent, warm and comforting and delicious, and Junhui’s nose sends a direct message to his feet to set them in motion to the kitchen. Jihoon hovers carefully above the tray, transferring the cookies one by one onto an uneven wire rack to cool. When Junhui pads closer, chest clenching in anticipation, Jihoon flails the spatula around to bar his progress.

“Go back to the living room,” he commands.

“What? Why?”

“They’re still too hot to eat. You don’t need to be in here.”

“But you’re in here.” Jihoon raises his eyebrows at that, and it occurs to Junhui that there is more than one way to take it. He could clarify which way he meant, but he’s pretty sure all the alternate interpretations apply, so he doesn’t bother. The eyebrows stay raised.

“I’m doing something useful,” Jihoon says carefully, demonstrating by way of lifting another cookie onto the rack. “I’ll bring them out when they’re cool enough to eat.

“Fine,” Junhui huffs, ignoring the pink he feels in his cheeks.

“I’m not gonna sneak any of them. Just go.” That’s not what Junhui is afraid of.

It’s worthless to dismiss him anyway because he’s on the couch for no more than two minutes before Jihoon wanders out with a cookie-filled plate clutched in hand. It’s the special plate Jeonghan bought for Christmas last year, green border and red holly berries glazed on its ceramic surface, and when all the cookies are eaten, they'll be able to read the script in the middle that says something like _Eat up, Santa!_ It doesn’t seem to make much sense to have that phrase appear only after Santa has already obeyed it, but Jeonghan loves the plate and thinks it’s the greatest, so it has appeared at more than just Christmas functions over the past several months. When Jihoon sits down, he’s closer than he was before, and the plate balances itself delicately between their knees on the cushions. It looks scarily close to falling over, and Junhui feels the same way.

Despite the excuse of needing to cool, the cookies are still almost too hot to eat when Junhui lifts one to his mouth, folding softly down under the pressure of gravity in its state of partial meltiness. God, does it taste good. If only he had something to drink. Like eggnog. A glance out the window tells him the snow has not let up at all in its eager falling, and he sighs while he finishes the cookie in another bite, chocolate lining the insides of his cheeks.

“I wish Jeonghan and Minghao had actually gotten that eggnog,” he mourns. Beside him, Jihoon sinks further into the couch, eyes forward.

“Well, they’ll probably show up with it, but not until Jeonghan’s pulled Minghao through whatever antics he has planned.” He sighs. “You know that guy. Always some sort of ulterior motive.”

Junhui’s heartrate spikes at the phrase. Is Wonwoo haunting him? Though it is true that Jeonghan always has a plan and twenty tricks up each sleeve to make it happen. He knows Minghao likes him at least a little bit, and he was probably confident he could get a kiss somehow or other as long as he got him on his own. And he was probably right. If only it didn’t have to be at the expense of Junhui’s eggnog.

“Yeah.”

They sit for a while without talking, but not quite watching the movie either. Eventually, when _Eat up, Santa!_ has become visible and been covered back up and become visible again, the movie changes, but not to the threequel. Instead, it’s some Christmas movie with Arnold Schwarzenegger in it. Junhui has never seen it before, and he doesn’t really want to see it now. Progressively, his blinks get longer and slower in coming, until Jihoon’s palm is on his arm and his eyes shoot wide open.

“Do you want to go to sleep?” Jihoon asks.

“What?” Junhui shakes himself, pulls up straighter on the couch. “No.”

“You sure?” His lips quirk in a thin sort of half-smile, and Junhui’s ribs feel a little tight. “Seems like you’re about to knock out any second.”

“No, I’m good.” Tiny white lies are okay every once in a while, Junhui tells himself. “It’s just the movie. It’s not that good.”

“Oh, you think?” Jihoon rubs his chin, thoughtful eyes crawling around the screen. “Yeah, I guess it’s not great. It came out on my birthday, though, so I’m a little biased.” He props his elbows up on the back of the couch, hands fully shrouded by his gradually loosening sweater sleeves. “Don’t ask me why I know that.”

“Oh, sure.” Junhui grins when he sees the way Jihoon is grinning, and he feels strings of lights winding around his lungs. “No questions at all.”

“Right.” With a click, the television screen goes black, and the room is noiseless but for the quiet hush of wind as it pushes around the snowfalls still coming down outside. If only the music was still on, but Jeonghan’s phone was the one connected to the speaker. All he does is cause problems. “Well,” Jihoon begins, “anything else you want to do?”

What a terrible question to ask. It sounds so inviting if Junhui wants to hear it that way, and there are so many correct answers, but probably not many Jihoon is aiming to hear. He’s always been tough to read, and the late November onset of Junhui’s big fat high school-esque crush has only made him more so. So many things to take note of right now: the way the twinkling lights on the tree frame Jihoon’s silhouette from the back, the way his hand hovers near Junhui’s knee, the subtle curl of his lips, the shine in his eyes. The absolute crushing silence of the room around them.

“Talk?” The lone word jumps through his lips like a hiccup. His first instinct is to laugh it off, but Jihoon is already laughing, soft chuckles that fade into nothing. All the air in the room buzzes.

“Sure,” Jihoon says, shifting onto his side to face Junhui on the couch. A tired contentment glows around his irises. “Let’s talk.”

It starts out very close to the kind of conversation Junhui usually has with relatives he hasn’t seen in a while. How are classes going? When does he graduate again? Then it’s parent conversation. How are finals? When will he be home from school? Then it’s odd ball questions—Jihoon questions, he guesses. Has he ever been walking around campus when all the streetlights came on? Does he know about the vending machine on the top floor of the business building that’s fifty cents cheaper than the rest of the ones on campus? Junhui doesn’t; maybe he’ll check it out next semester.

“What have you been up to aside from finals?” Jihoon asks. He’s been asking a lot of questions, which is unusual. Maybe it’s the late hour. Junhui has a lot he’d like to ask, too, but he doesn’t want to bungle the whole operation. “I feel like I don’t even know what you like doing.”

“Oh, you know,” Junhui sighs, chin in palm, “just normal stuff. Looking at pictures of baby animals, surfing the web… Regular everyday young adult business.” Jihoon snorts.

“Yeah, sure.” One foot nudges at Junhui’s knee through a thick wool sock. “Come on, no judgement.” He doesn’t seem very sincere, but that’s not the cat that’s got Junhui’s tongue. “I know you have to have other interests.” Junhui wets his lips.

“You.”

“Sorry?”

“Anime,” he corrects. Jesus, that was a bad move. No way he ever could have pulled it off smoothly. Must be the time getting to him—what time is it, anyway? Too late for sure. He definitely should have just gone to bed. Or home. “And cosplay.” Jihoon raises his eyebrows.

“So, what, you dress up as Naruto and stuff?”

“Naruto isn’t the only anime character there is, you know.” Play it cool. He tells himself that much, at least, but he doesn’t know how much time has to pass before he’s in the clear.

“Who, then? Goku?” Junhui groans.

“Yeah, Goku. I dress up as Goku.” It feels worthless to explain that _Naruto_ and _Dragon Ball Z_ are not the only anime in existence, and Jihoon doesn’t seem particularly concerned with whether there are more than just those two. “Are you happy?”

“I’m pleased, yeah.” He kicks his feet up to nudge at Junhui’s knee. God, does he know how to be charming. “So do you do it often?”

“I mean, every once in a while?” Junhui wipes his hands down his face. He’d been doing such a good job of not letting anybody find out about it, too. Except Wonwoo. But he always knows everything. “Can we not talk about this, actually?”

“Why?” Jihoon grins like he knows why. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m just curious.”

“I still don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Fine. We can talk about something else.” Junhui’s ears prickle at the smugness in his voice. He expects the blow before it hits him. “That other interest you mentioned.” It still catches him off guard.

“Other interest?” For the love of god, would it kill Jeonghan to kick the door in with a fresh carton of eggnog exactly _right now_? The snow pouring down outside says yes, it probably would kill him, but Junhui still wishes for it. “I didn’t mention any other interest.”

“Oh, I think you did.” His heel finds a resting spot on Junhui’s knee, and the pressure is excruciating. “Hate to drop this on you, bud, but I do have ears.”

“Why don’t we talk about some of your interests?”

“We both already know I like music.” He prods with his toes now, tickling at Junhui’s ribs. That smile is killer. “So I’m an interest, am I?” Junhui sighs. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know,” Junhui says, “I don’t want to talk about this either.”

“But I want to.” Another sigh rends itself from Junhui’s lips. “C’mon, it’s the giving season. Give me the answers I’m asking for.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” Jihoon laughs at that, full and loud, fingers fiddling with the hems of his sleeves. He has a habit of doing that when he’s uncomfortable; Junhui thinks if either of them should get to feel uncomfortable, it’s definitely not Jihoon.

“I mean,” he begins with a slight shrug, “you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“You think so?” Junhui tries to sound casual about it, but it comes out more like a cough.

“Alright, I was honest, so now it’s your turn.”

Laughter bubbles up out of Junhui before he can stop it, and it’s the kind that’s tough to put brakes on, shakes his whole body and wears out his lungs. Even Jihoon starts chuckling with him. Something about being called cute while simultaneously demanded to confess his feelings tickles him so much more than it should. “Are you always this direct?” he pants when he has his breath back. Jihoon levels his gaze and leans back on his elbows, and while he does still smile, it’s hard to keep laughing.

“Not usually,” he admits, “but you do have a thing for me, don’t you? You said so yourself.”

“I mean…” There’s no point in trying to act like it’s _not_ true. He did, after all, say so himself. “Yeah. I do.”

“What is it? My glittering personality?” His grin sharpens. “Or perhaps my optimistic outlook?”

“Definitely both of those things.”

Jihoon doesn’t say anything else for a while, just stares. Junhui feels both like an insect under the unforgiving microscope of a science lab and like a painting just hung in a gallery. Across from him, Jihoon is the spectator and the spectacle, feathery stray hairs hanging onto color from the tree’s lights like a halo. As always, he’s beautiful. Junhui feels his chest tugging him somewhere, but he can’t tell where it’s going or how to follow. After a few ringing minutes pass, Jihoon coughs.

“Say,” he begins, “we don’t have any mistletoe,” and Junhui is all nerves about what’s coming next, “but would you mind if I kissed you anyway?”

“Sorry?” Junhui breathes. “Would I mind?”

“I don’t know how traditional you are.”

“Don’t _you_ mind?”

“We like each other, don’t we?” Jihoon shrugs, but his cheeks are burning pink. “I thought it felt like the obvious next step.”

“You like me?”

“I already said that.”

Junhui knows he wouldn’t have missed that, so he doesn’t even bother running through the last few minutes of conversation in his head again. “You definitely didn’t,” he says. “You said I’m cute when I’m flustered.” It flusters him just to say it. He hopes Jihoon is enjoying this.

“What’s the difference?”

Junhui’s jaw drops to his lap. “A _lot_ of things, Jihoon.”

“Well, not to me.” Pause. Breathe. Somehow, it sounds like Christmas music is coming from somewhere, though Junhui can’t pinpoint the words or even the tune. “So, mistletoe?”

“I guess we don’t really _need_ it.” Truthfully, in his heart, he thinks they need it. But sometimes tiny white lies are okay, and sometimes concessions need to be made. Jihoon comes at him in slow motion, hands grasping at his shoulders for balance, and his lips are soft.

Peppermint. Gingerbread. Cookies and milk. He tastes like all of it and he tastes like none of it, changing right on the tongue, melting under Junhui’s fingertips. Maybe it’s a good thing they don’t have the mistletoe after all—there must be some sort of etiquette rules about how long is appropriate to stand under it. Junhui doesn’t have a timer going, but his internal clock is telling him they’ve worn out their welcome.

The sound of keys in the door startles them both. It’s enough of a shock to send Jihoon’s face a few comfortable inches back, but not enough to get him off from where he’s stretched over Junhui. Not enough to get Junhui’s hands off the perfect spots they’ve found on his waist, either, or to cool the red in either of their faces. Heart still drumming urgently, he stays frozen while the door unlocks. Jihoon only moves to blink.

Jeonghan enters with less clamor than Junhui expects, but it must be because of how late it’s gotten. Which Junhui still doesn’t know the exact definition of. Behind him, there are footsteps, then nothing, then footsteps again. A plastic bag rustles softly, and Junhui watches both Jeonghan and Minghao shuffle by, snow piled thick all over them. Something that sounds like whispering comes from the kitchen, and he works hard to make it out.

“You owe me thirty dollars,” he thinks he hears Minghao say. Jeonghan laughs right after. Jihoon sighs.

“Why don’t you come share with the class?” he calls, falling onto Junhui’s chest and flopping on his back. It knocks the wind out of his lungs, but the feeling overall is not half bad.

Minghao waddles back in with Jeonghan at his tail, still shaking snow off his coat while he tugs it off. Their noses are both bright red, hands too, entire bodies. They squeeze onto the end of the couch they can fit on, and Jeonghan tries desperately to unfold one of the extra blankets, but his hands are too numb to do anything substantial, so he resolves to leaving them tangled within the bundle and resting them uselessly on his own legs. His eyes glow like he got what he wanted.

“I’m surprised you guys are still awake,” he says, both gentle and mischievous. “Looks like you didn’t need the eggnog after all.”

“We certainly would’ve liked to have it.” Junhui is glad Jihoon is doing the talking. His emotions are a little too compromised to get out the full scope of what he’s feeling. “Where have you been for the past several hours since you left to walk to the corner store a block over? Making snow angels?”

“It’s a funny story, actually.”

“Save it for open mic night at the comedy club,” Jihoon grunts. He sits up then, scooting forward to be in front of Junhui’s legs. “Did you at least get the nog?”

“The good kind,” Jeonghan assures him with a smile. “It’s on the counter unfreezing if you want to test it.”

“Think I’ll pass for now.” He heaves himself up from the couch and squats next to Junhui. “There are more blankets in the hall closet. I’m going to bed.” His hand is warm where it pats Junhui on the stomach. “See you in the morning.” The heat from his palm bleeds through every layer of Junhui’s body, and he’s just on the verge of melting when he notices he’s being stared at by two sets of eyes.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Jeonghan says, grin wide as ever. His hands finally start wriggling their way out of their blanket cocoon, knuckles still stained a harsh pink. “You got a real winner there, huh?”

“Worry about yourself, Jeonghan.” Junhui rolls over to hide the warmth in his face, tree a twinkling shadow in his periphery. “I hear you’re thirty dollars in the hole.”

“Yeah, you two are great for each other,” he groans, rubbing his palms together and rising to his feet. “And you’re also on the couch, which means, Minghao…”

“Ah, whatever,” Minghao sighs. The cushion buckles where he stands up from it, and Junhui stretches his legs out into their new room. It’s cold where the two of them were sitting. “Just go ahead and give the thirty to Wonwoo.”

“It truly is a beautiful season,” Jeonghan hums.

They pad softly through the living room while they leave, back and forth again while they fish out more blankets from everywhere they’ve been stashed. When Jeonghan unplugs the tree and sends the flash of colors in Junhui’s background spiraling to black, they take their last trail of steps out and down the hall to Jeonghan’s room. Junhui flips over to face the room around him, eyes crawling through the dark around the shadow of a tree and the meager spread of presents beneath it.

Outside the window, snow is still coming down, almost purplish in its whiteness beyond the glass. Who knows how much will be piled up by morning if it keeps up this pace? He closes his eyes and pictures the drifts, soft and sloping, everywhere and infinite, and curls deeper into the folds of his blanket. It might not be so bad to be snowed in if you’re in the right place. As he drifts slowly toward slumber, he sees Jihoon in his mind, cheeks and nose red from the cold, gloveless pink hands clutching at snow. He sees the stripes of candy canes and the legs of gingerbread men, smells chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven. He sees a smile and crinkling eyes, and two red ears on either side of it. His own lips smile before he can catch them.

It’s a beautiful season indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> WOOHOO CHRISTMAS!!!!!! i'm back at it again with a fic i probably shouldn't have written but did anyway. nice to be in the tag i call home once again. i hope you enjoyed this!!! the semester is ending so hopefully i'll be able to get a little more writing done than i've been able to do for the past few months. keep your eyes peeled for the jeonghao spinoff i will probably try to write. and happy holidays everybody!! as always, feedback is greatly appreciated, and thanks so so much for reading!


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